Humanity's Enterprise (was Enterprise)
by Shan Jeniah
Summary: How did T'Pol come to be assigned to Enterprise, and what happened behind the scenes in those first days? Updated version includes a prequel chapter - T'Pol impulsively responds to Jonathan Archer's questions, with unforeseen results...
1. Chapter 1 Jonathan Archer

T'Pol had given no warning that she would engage in conversation with Jonathan Archer. Protocol and his own directives placed her in the role of observer. Conversing with humans was a skill that required a great deal of practice; typically, an attache would spend several months witnessing before attempting it.

He had selected T'Pol for his staff because she was the infant who had dared to touch the flame. That implied an intrinsic need to understand; she might take risks that weren't precisely logical, but would certainly provide valuable insight into this complex and highly emotive species.

His attache's response to the human's question was succinct; well within acceptable parameters. That Archer responded with another angry question was wholly expected; he seemed willing to hold all Vulcans responsible for his father's inability to advance his engine design sufficiently before his death.

Soval focused on his breathing until he was able to suppress his own unwanted response. He was too near pon farr not to be affected by the involuntary pheromone releases that were characteristic of early telerotic awakening.

T'Pol lifted her chin and answered the human's challenge. Fascinating - she met Archer's stare directly, projecting presence in a manner that a human male would respond to.

Soval was aware of an elevation in his own respiratory and circulatory systems. A tingling in his fingertips urged him to draw nearer to her, to feel her bioelectric signature...

T'Pol's next response to Jonathan Archer was correct, despite the further violation of protocol.

The human starship captain responded by intimating a desire to physically harm T'Pol. She said nothing more, only made a slight shift in her facial expression that his observations suggested were readily understood as acknowledgment among humans.

She gave no indication that it would almost certainly be impossible for Archer to accost her. Even without her superior strength and reflexes, she would prove a formidable opponent.

T'Pol remained still as the conversation deteriorated in the manner most attempts to guide humans seemed to.

Her elevated pheremone production quickly saturated the air in the small waiting area, and provoked his own inevitable response. Though he was long mated, and T'Pol a relative; he couldn't fully repress his reaction to the powerful telerotic awakening of a female Vulcan.

He raised his voice to Maxwell Forrest when it was decided that _Enterprise_ would return the Klingon. While Soval knew his human associate would forgive the lapse, he found it, and his awareness of T'Pol, distressing.

They must vacate the chamber. While not the ideal resolution, it supported the arrangement he had with Maxwell: Jonathan Archer's hostility toward the Vulcan people had been harnessed for the benefit of his own species.

There was a danger in his decision to place T'Pol on _Enterprise_ as an adviser and observer of this first Terran deep-space mission. While Archer's responses to her proved that he was unaware of her awakening, and so was not the catalyst for it; T'Pol's proved just as definitively that it had indeed been a human male that had precipitated her maturing telerotic state. Her use of human kinesthesiology was conclusive.

On _Enterprise_ , she would be vulnerable in a way few Vulcans were. It was quite possible that their behavior would influence her own, in ways she wouldn't be aware of and couldn't guard herself against.

Protocol prevented him from addressing the topic; reproductive privacy was a fundamental Vulcan right. Soval considered all he knew of this young woman, including the seven times she had left the compound unescorted and in violation of protocol. He weighed the risks and benefits for her, for humans, and for the Vulcan people.

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one."

Logical – but it wasn't logic that made the decision, but Soval's desire to honor the infant who had touched the flame.

T'Pol stared at her flame, the scars on her fingertips pulsing softly. She didn't understand what had driven her to speak when she was intended to remain silent. She was further confused by Ambassador Soval's failure to censure her immediately; why had he chosen to allow her inappropriate behavior to continue?

Why had she spoken? At the time, it had seemed crucial to answer Jonathan Archer's questions, and neither the Ambassador nor his chief assistant, Tos, were answering him.

What had the human meant, when he said that he was restraining himself from "knocking her on her ass?" She didn't understand more than that it was clearly a threat against her person – but there had been something else, when he gave voice to his threat. An awareness of the human man named Trip, the way he had looked when he smiled, the changes it wrought in his face. Some lingering awareness of him suggested that, if he knew what the starship captain had said, and her skill in combat disciplines, he would smile.

Was that the concept humans referred to as humor? A disparity between perception – in this case, that her smaller size, and perhaps her gender, translated to vulnerability to attack – and reality - her greater strength and faster reflexes, in addition to a decade of elite training while serving in the Ministry of Security?

Why was she pondering the nature of humor when she may have endangered her career, and committed an act which would precipitate her return to Vulcan?

Why could she not focus on the flame, and her meditation?

There was a soft chime in a specific pattern. She was being summoned to attend Ambassador Soval.

T'Pol rose smoothly, but, instead of going at once to the door, she went to the two tall windows. She stood for a moment, her fingers tracing the illustration on the cover of a hide-bound volume that rested on a table before them, and wondered if this was the last time she would look out onto the fog-shrouded streets of this world.


	2. Chapter 2 Enterprise

_**Author's Notes:**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own them; they just hijack me to tell their stories. My credit chits remain forever empty; I make no money from Star Trek, and don't want to. This is for love, not money.**_

 _ **This is a missing-scenes piece for "Broken Bow". I've always been curious about how T'Pol came to be assigned to Enterprise, what she and Trip were thinking during that encounter, and what happened to T'Pol between the time she walks out of the Ready Room and her appearance at the launch ceremony.**_

 _ **I've also wondered how T'Pol reacted to serving under the command of a man who expressed a desire to "knock her on her ass", or to have Trip's hand offered to her.**_

 _ **This story is my attempt to answer these questions.**_

 _ **Head canon: Trip was at Fusion when T'Pol arrived. Something neither of them undestands was shared, and, as a result, T'Pol owns a surprising Terran book she acquired at some risk (see my previous story, "Cowled", for more on that adventure).**_

 ** _There will eventually be more to this story. Your comments, criticisms, questions, impressions, and whatever else may shape what's next. Have ideas? Don't be shy; share!_**

 _ **Mild language and suggestiveness warnings; nothing intense.**_

 _ **Spoilers for "Broken Bow" and "Fusion".  
**_

 _ **Enterprise**_

"The High Command has reinstated your rank, Subcommander T'Pol. You are assigned to _Enterprise_ for the duration of its mission, effective as soon as you have received medical clearance." Ambassador Soval's voice was even, despite the troubling developments.

"I am unqualified to serve upon a human vessel," T'Pol objected logically, while trying to sufficiently suppress the tingle of emotion before it surfaced in her demeanor **.**

"The High Command has determined that Vulcan interests must be insured. Humans must be guided to avoid the disastrous consequences their impetuous, volatile natures are otherwise likely to incur. They lack the knowledge they require to protect themselves or the homeostasis of this quadrant. You are a scientist with considerable experience in the areas of spaceflight, combat, and diplomacy. There is no other within range with the specific qualifications you possess. You may log a complaint, if you choose; however, your assignment as Science Officer, and chaperon, is compulsory. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one."

The young woman took the three prescribed cleansing breaths taught to all Vulcan children; the first and most essential key to emotional control. They didn't entirely provide the calm she needed to adjust to the reality of the assignment, but they did assist her to attain an acceptable level of outer impassivity. Until she could meditate, it would have to suffice.

Soval waited until she completed the breaths, then handed her a data tablet. "This contains translations of the material Starfleet has provided the Consulate regarding _Enterprise's_ command structure, as well as the schedule for your pre-departure preparations and protocol for the duration of this assignment."

T'Pol scrolled through the personnel files - and her breath released in a harsh, uncontrolled gasp **.**

"Subcommander, are you well?

Soval awaited her answer, but she was lost, pulled back to that restaurant and the pulsing, discordant music. And the compelling blue eyes of a human called Trip - the man who now stared back at her from the screen.

"T'Pol."

She couldn't look away from the device, and a face she'd thought she would never see again. Her emotions and memories surged and tangled, and she was in serious danger of revealing them outright, here in Ambassador Soval's office.

If he learned of her past breaches of protocol on this world, she would be removed from her position, denied this posting to the Terran ship where _he_ awaited her -

She drew a deep breath, held it until she could control her autonomic response, and met the regard of her superior. Soval studied her for a moment, his face revealing nothing but alertness. T'Pol held herself still under the inspection. Would he conclude that she was unsuitable for this assignment **?**

"Although the service is compulsory, Subcommander T'Pol, you still honor Vulcan in your performance of your duty. You have the remainder of the day to attend to your personal affairs."

"It is my honor to serve." The response was automatic. She turned and left, blue Terran eyes foremost in her mind.

* * *

She stood at the door to Captain Archer's office - his Ready Room, according to the ensign who had directed her here. Through it, she heard a male voice, the words indistinct due to the volume of the humans on the Bridge, but known to her. Captain Jonathan Archer, who, at their last meeting, only a day ago, had threatened to commit bodily harm against her, and who had insisted upon this mission despite the illogic and foolishness of it.

T'Pol expected that she would experience considerable difficulty under Jonathan Archer's command. Kaiidth. She would adhere to the directives she'd been given, and, if the need arose, she would defend herself from any attacks directed at her.

Another voice, and there was no mistaking _his_ intonations. T'Pol forgot caution or hesitation, opened the door, and stepped through, pulled by instincts she didn't fully understand.

Her focus went immediately to the precise place where he was; she couldn't control the instinctive flaring of her nostrils as she inhaled his unique scent. Her respiration and heart rate accelerated, and she touched the faintly throbbing scars on her fingertips.

Trip looked back at her with an expression that might be shock, or disbelief, or any number of other things she could not decipher - but T'Pol was certain that he knew her as she knew him, and that he hadn't expected to see her here.

She must turn to the Captain. She must give no indication, here, that she found it most agreeable to see Trip again, to have eight days to explore what had inexplicably passed between them in San Francisco. She was here to represent her people, and to protect this crew.

It required considerable discipline to give the captain her attention, and more to slow her circulatory and respiratory rates. Behind her was a man she was aware of as she was no other, the source of much agitation and questions for which she had no answers beyond those to be found in the marked pages of a Terran book she had procured at great risk, but still didn't understand. Before her was a man who had openly menaced her, who remained unaware of the improbability that he would succeed if he attempted to carry out his threat.

She had illogically postponed using the prescribed nasal numbing agent, because she found Trip's - _Commander Tucker's_ \- scent strongly appealing. However, Captain Archer's was in opposition to it, and the combination was distasteful and agitating.

It was evident in her voice when she spoke, and in her presentation of the Starfleet-issue data tablet that held her transfer documentation. Controlling that as well as the urge to turn and directly address the engineer was more than she could manage, while it was also necessary to so closely monitor her autonomic responses. It was of no help that the only ingress or egress from this small chamber was the one she had used; instinct and training prepared her to respond to any threat from that direction, as well.

More, there was a small, large-eared animal upon the floor - a canid, she believed. Animals might react unpredictably, if one was unaware of their natures, and what might provoke them. They might also be trained to attack, provided they had evolved adequate cognitive development. If she recalled properly, Terran canids were utilized for many purposes; it would be illogical to assume that a small animal posed no threat.

She glanced at the creature, and the impulse to clear the Captain's scent from her olfactory cavities overcame her control. Jonathan Archer apologized, assuming it was the animal that had caused the response.

"I've been trained to tolerate offensive situations." It was true, but that training had not extended to commanding officers who threatened hostile behavior against her for speaking the truth.

"I took a shower this morning, Cap'n, how 'bout you?"

How was it that she could _hear_ him smiling behind her? Certainly that was illogical. The captain introduced him, using his full name and rank, as it had appeared in the materials she had been given at the Consulate.

At last, she was permitted to turn and face him. Commander Charles Tucker the Third rose, his blue eyes just as she remembered, and extended his arm to her, hand open in a blatant offer to touch. Such intimacy was only shared by close family members, on Vulcan. Or by mates.

"Trip. I'm called Trip." There was something in his eyes, his voice, his open hand. Openness. The offer of connection, to offset the Captain's obvious prejudices.

The effort not to accept the gesture required all of her discipline, and left her badly in need of privacy and meditation against the powerful impulse to heedlessly take hold of that hand, and give herself to whatever would follow.

She must not. She had a duty to the High Command, and a responsibility to protect this Terran crew. If she accepted his touch, she was certain she wouldn't be able to objectify him, when she must.

"I'll try to remember that," she said. It would be most agreeable, to use his chosen name, the only one she had known for the last fourteen months. But now, she was required to focus on her duty.

T'Pol turned back toward the Captain, which was now the safer of the options available to her, and clutched quivering hands behind her, still longing to touch the man behind her.

* * *

Trip stared at her backside, dismissed and stung. Where was the lovely young woman who had swayed to the music, stared into his eyes, somehow touched his mind? He wished he couldn't remember exactly how long ago that was. Not because he didn't want to remember that magical night when Miss Pointed Ears Under That Cowl stalked into his life, looking like a cross between a ninja, a dancer, and a Florida panther, but because it had put him through hell and back ever since, fantasizing about her. She stood there like he meant not a damned thing to her, like she' d gone back into the Consulate and never given him even a second thought.

The only thing that even hinted at that dizzying night was how damned good she smelled. Not quite like he remembered. Maybe it was the small space, but her scent was definitely doing things to him, and he could almost pretend they were back in Fusion…Of course, not a one of his fantasies involved her standing here in the Cap'n's Ready Room like she'd never seen him before, never stared into his eyes until they fell into each other, or whatever the hell had happened that felt like they were almost one person living two lives at the same time.

Stop it, Tucker. Right now. She turned her back on you. That's a helluva clear message. You'd be a fool not to take it.

But then her hands twisted behind her, two fingers of one hand stroking the tips of two fingers on the other. Did that mean that she was nervous? That she wanted to touch him? Or was it an obscenity? Did Vulcans even _have_ obscenities? And, if they did, and that's what that was, was it directed at him, or Jon? He had to admit, Jon didn't seem to be doing a very good job of 'extending her every courtesy', or any at all, really. Trip understood that he blamed Vulcans for his daddy never getting to see his engine fly, but she was way too young to have had anything to do with that.

Trip wanted to be mad at her, or just not care about her one way or the other. But all he could think of is how he'd feel if someone ordered him to serve eight days on a Vulcan ship, and the captain seemed to want to blame him for every grudge he had against humans.

That's when Porthos decided to get into the act and outgentleman his master by putting his front feet right up on her leg to offer her a friendly doggy hello, and what Trip could see of her expression as she twisted a bit to look at what might be her very first-ever beagle made him grin, and wish he could be like Porthos. All he'd have to do is take a step forward, spin her around, and tell her he wasn't going to let her go until she told him what the hell she'd been up to that night, and why she was pretending that she hadn't ever seen him before now.

And maybe make it damned clear that if she wanted to pick up where they'd left off, that he was way more than interested in helping her out with that.

But, then Jon would know there was history - or _something_ \- between them. He'd sure as hell gone on and on about his mystery woman in the club, even dragged Jon back there twice, hoping to see her, wondering if his best friend the starship Cap'n would pick up on the fact that the woman of his dreams wasn't even _human_. But she she hadn't ever come back, not that he'd seen, and then his promotion came through and he was busy with that beautiful Warp 5 engine and about a thousand other ship's systems, and there wasn't any time to skulk around Fusion anymore.

So now he just stood there, as she turned and walked out, hoping he was doing half as good a job at acting as she was – _if_ she was acting. Maybe she really couldn't care less that he was here, and they had eight days of smooth sailing ahead of them, with plenty of time to maybe get to know each other a whole lot better.

Of course, pretending would be easier if she wasn't wearing that damned perfume that seemed to shift and pulse through the Cap'n's Ready Room, and through his body, straight to -

Down, boy!

Not sure he could follow his own order, Trip plunked himself back down in the chair, grateful that Porthos decided to jump up into his lap and give him something to focus on and hide behind.

* * *

T'Pol stepped from Captain Archer's office into chaos. Humans moved frenetically about the Bridge, amid shouting, clanging, irrelevant fragments of conversation about what they'd been doing when prematurely called to duty. Perhaps she should expect nothing else, on a ship commanded by a Terran who had openly professed a desire to "knock her on her ass". She was still uncertain of the precise meaning of the colloquialism, but there was no doubt that it had been hostile.

The sharp whine of overloaded circuitry came from her left, accompanied by an acrid scent, and the five Terrans installing a diagnostic table leapt away from it. As though able to sense the problem through walls and doors, Commander Tucker burst from the passageway behind her. "Move it or lose it," he said, and pushed past her, his scent and energy eroding the calm she was attempting to regain after his closeness in the Ready Room.

"Damn it, you people trying to burn the ship down before she even _launches_? And in front of our _chaperone_?" He went to the wall and pressed a button, and a chemical mist emerged from the ceiling. "I made sure the fire suppression system was up even before life support. Did all the work in an EV suit. There was a _reason_ for that – anything _else_ fries, I want you all to _use_ it, or you've got no business wearing that red stripe _or_ the uniform it's on." With the emergency abated, he turned to T'Pol. "Suppose you'll be tellin' old Soval all about this little mishap."

"I simply wish to assume my station." She wouldn't allow his presence to affect her. Certainly not while she was on duty.

"Well, assume away, then." He gestured to the station nearest the lift doors. "It's all yours, _Sub-Commander_."

T'Pol walked up to the console he indicated, unwilling to admit that she hadn't known where she was stationed. She'd expected to be given a debriefing prior to reporting to the Bridge, but that hadn't happened, and Captain Archer had given no indication that it would.

Behind her, Commander Tucker spoke loudly, "Attention, all hands." The activity ceased immediately; perhaps there was a degree of discipline here that hadn't evidenced itself until now. "We're all supposed to show our Vulcan chaperone here, Sub-Commander -" he paused, then added, "I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name."

"T'Pol."

"Cap'n's orders are that Sub-Commander _T'Pol_ here is to be extended every courtesy. I know none of us are too busy to drop anything we happen to be doing any time she's got a question, so it shouldn't be a problem, right?" He stepped up to the console beside her and said, "May I please be excused, ma'am? I'd like to get that viewing table up and running before we launch, and it might help if I stop by the Engine Room and wave at folks – but, of course, if you need someone to hold your chair for you-"

"I require nothing of you, Commander."

"Common courtesy is to thank someone when they offer you their help, _T'Pol_. And to accept handshakes. _And_ to call people by the names they _want_ to be called."

She knew that he was angry, but didn't understand why. Logically, it should be irrelevant; she would ignore the uneasy sensation in her digestive tract, and would meditate at the earliest opportunity. However, she must give him some reply.

"I'll try to remember that," she said, and turned to examine the science station. But she could feel him watching her, and she knew the moment he left.


	3. Chapter 3 Klaang

_**Disclaimer/Notes in Chapter One**_

 ** _There will eventually be more to this story. Your comments, criticisms, questions, impressions, and whatever else may shape what's next. Have ideas? Don't be shy; share!_**

 _ **Mild language warnings; nothing intense.**_

 _ **Spoilers for "Broken Bow".**_

 _ **Klaang**_

T'Pol stood to the side of the main sensor array control panel, attempting to remain out of Commander Tucker's path as he repeatedly crossed the deck plating to stare at the sensor array, and then returned to the panel, where he frowned at her and exhaled sharply before moving away again. With each circuit, his scent grew heavier, more constricting, filling the air with a pungent bitterness that was ill-suited to his generally agreeable olfactory signature.

"Damned Vulcan woman!"

"Saddled _me_ with her!"

He spoke softly, but with considerable force, in a sporadic pattern; from the fragments she could understand, he didn't find either her or her assistance agreeable. She wondered if he was aware that she could hear him quite clearly. Was this the manner in which he conveyed strong emotion? She recalled her previous observations of this human. No, he had been quite loud, perhaps even by human standards, when the woman Natalie would not cease her activities when he demanded she do so.

"Extend her every courtesy!"

"Throw her the hell out the damned airlock!"

He returned, but broke his pattern to stare at her. "Are you just going to stand there like a support beam, or is it possible that you might do something –anything at _all_ – to help me find Klaang, and get him home before his people come looking for _us_?"

"You've given me no direction, Commander Tucker." Although it would perhaps have been a more logical alternative, T'Pol didn't mention her inability to read his language. Her extensive Security training had conditioned her not to reveal vulnerabilities that might become liabilities.

"You want direction? Look at that damned panel, and tell me if you can think of anything that might help us spot those guys who took him – what the hell is that species called again?"

"You are searching for the Suliban." T'Pol looked at the panel; it was incomprehensible. Given time and permission, she could expand the interface program she'd written for her Bridge station to function elsewhere on the ship, but that was of no use now. "I see no point in attempting to locate their ship, as they clearly possess technology and genetic advances your species lacks."

He stared at her, and his scent grew almost rancid. Instinct tensed T'Pol's muscles, but she didn't relent to the urge to assume a defensive stance, lest she provoke the volatile engineer.

"Well, then, since Miss High and Mighty Vulcan says there's _no point_ , I guess we should just stick or tails between our legs and run home, right? Throw Klaang to the wolves and declare him collateral damage? Yeah, I'll just be you'd think it was the cat's pajamas to be able to go and report back to old Soval that we couldn't even deliver a _package_ on time!"

T'Pol was a Vulcan; she didn't flinch as his voice ricocheted off various metallic surfaces, becoming distorted and magnified in the chamber dominated by empty space.

She swallowed back a need to vomit; she wouldn't give into that impulse, either, at least until she was alone. He had seen her vomit once; the fact added to her agitation. When she could speak without risk of revealing her digestive distress, she answered truthfully.

"I don't understand your vernacular, Commander Tucker."

* * *

"Guess what?" Trip had had about twice as much of her as he needed, and it came out in his voice.

"Guess?" She seemed confused, maybe, but he was just plain too mad to care anymore. He was positive she knew more than she was letting on, here, by a long shot.

"Never mind – you don't need to do anything as illogical as _guessing_ – that might just fry your circuitry, and then I'd probably be in trouble. So I'm just going to tell you straight out: I don't give a _dam_ n whether you 'understand my vernacular' or not! I don't care that you think this is an illogical and pointless mission! I _only_ care that the Cap'n wants us to find that damned Suliban ship, and get Klaang back home where he belongs. That plain enough for you?"

"I understand your position, Commander Tucker." Leave it to a Vulcan to give him an answer that didn't really say anything.

"And?" Trip decided he was going to get more out of her if it killed them both.

"If you will tell me how to assist you, I'll do what I'm able, to the best of my ability."

He stared at her. She didn't meet his eyes, and her body seemed tense. Had he scared her with his anger? Given the way her people thought of his, maybe she was afraid he was going to attack her. Trip felt a little guilty about that, and now that she said she was willing to help, he figured he'd better try to soothe her a little, if they were going to work together.

"Well, all right then. I need all the scans you and Malcolm got from that ship, and then the schematics for all the sensor arrays, and -" She was definitely looking confused now. Trip stopped, stuck his tongue in his cheek until he got hold of himself, then asked, "What's wrong?"

"There is nothing wrong, Commander. However, it would be far more efficient to access the information through my Bridge station." A slight pause. "With your permission, Commander?"

Trip got the definite idea that she wanted to get away from him. He'd be offended, except that, thinking it over, he probably did seem dangerously irrational from her perspective. "If you need to go, feel free, Sub-commander. But I think I owe you an apology, first."

"An apology?"

"I kind of took out my frustrations on you. That really wasn't fair, and I know better. I'm sorry, T'Pol."

She just looked at him for a moment, then nodded slightly. "I will return when I have the information you require," she said, softly.

Trip watched her go, her spine straight even in retreat, and reminded himself that she was all alone here. If she was assigned against her will, like she'd suggested to the Cap'n, this couldn't be easy for her. Could she feel the resentment and mistrust from the crew? Would it matter to her, if she could, or was she just putting in the time until this mission was done?

He went back to looking at the raw data, but there was still nothing that looked useful to him. His job was to fix the equipment, not decipher the readings. That was what the Science Officer was for; only T'Pol seemed to think she was just along for a rather dull ride here.

At least, that's what it looked like, until she came back less than ten minutes later, with her own hand scanner and a Starfleet datapadd. "I am prepared to analyze the data and my initial findings with you, Commander Tucker."

"Well, then, let's see what you've got here, and what we can do with it."

He was starting to think this might actually work out. And that's right when she reminded him that fantasy and reality were light-years apart. He'd picked up something in the scan, and pointed it out to her, victorious.

"It is nothing, Commander Tucker. Merely space dust; you will become accustomed to it in time, as my species has learned to do; your scanners will be capable of recording it without mistaking it for anything else. Currently, they are much more primitive."

And that slammed the door tight on mutual cooperation.


	4. Chapter 3 Fruitful Indiscretions

**Fruitful Indiscretions**

" **Got yourself in trouble with the boss, now, didn't you?"**

 **For maybe the first time since she got here, Sub-Commander T'Pol didn't say a word. Trip turned his back on her, still trying to hide his smirk. It wasn't polite to gloat, but he figured if anyone deserved it, it had to be the insufferable Vulcan scientist. According to _her_ , her species could do anything and _everything_ better than humans could. **

**Extending her every courtesy had gone straight out the airlock before they even left Spacedock, and the damned woman had been driving him up the walls for hours now with her insults. Maybe it wasn't fair, but then neither was her acting like she hadn't walked into a jazz club on a Tuesday night and turned his world upside down. Maybe it wasn't fair to blame her because the reality of having her here was so different from the fantasies he'd been weaving for over a year now. Or for the simple fact that she might just be right about _Enterprise's_ sensors not being up to the job. It's not like they'd known there was a species out there who wanted to kidnap a Klingon, when, until one crash-landed in the middle of a corn field and ended up on the wrong side of a farmer's plasma rifle, they hadn't even known Klingons existed.**

 **The damned Vulcans had, though. And they hadn't made a peep about it.**

 **Maybe it wasn't fair to take that out on her either - but he could sure as hell blame her for being the biggest pain in the ass to ever set foot in this or any other engine room he'd ever worked in. She was earning that title all by herself, fair and square.**

 **He turned just enough that he could watch her out of the corner of his eye. She walked back to the sensor controls like she had a damned tritanium rod for a spine, and picked up her Vulcan hand scanner, which was also apparently far superior to any of _Enterprise's_. And then she just stood there, like touching anything would sully her pretty Vulcan fingers…**

 **Trip decided to wait her out. When she was quiet, he could almost remember the way she'd looked in Fusion. He thought of her putting plum slices and those fingers in her mouth, the little bits of nectar that had lingered at the corners of her mouth.**

 **She hadn't said a word then, either. If she had, he sure as hell wouldn't have spent over a year mooning over his Vulcan Surprise Package. Maybe not even a minute.**

" **Commander, I've been ordered to assist you. However, I can't do that until you direct me." She was staring at him like he was some damned insect crawling on her freshly cleaned floor. Trip decided that it served her right to wait a minute or two for her next chance to tell him that it was impossible to track that Suliban ship.**

 **Not all surprises packages were worth opening, and this woman was one he wished he could mark 'return to sender'. When she walked into Jon's Ready Room, he'd thought that this eight day run was going to be the adventure of a lifetime – deep space, and getting to know a beautiful woman who'd starred in just about every dream he'd had since he first saw her. Now, he couldn't wait for it all to be over, so that he could get rid of her. He was just about sure that Jon had dumped her on him because she was intolerable to have on the Bridge. Rank came with privileges, after all.**

" **Commander Tucker, this is not an efficient or logical use of our time." She was still just as stunning on the outside, although right now, she looked more like a storefront mannequin than she did the elusive, enigmatic woman who'd driven him mad as she sampled that plum slice with those sensual lips.**

" **Listen, I've had about enough of your insults, and your damned 'assistance', if that's what you call it. Honestly, I've had more than enough of _you_." **

**She just stood there as he stalked up to her. She didn't back away. Hell, she didn't even _blink_. Trip veered off; it was stupid to try to intimidate someone who didn't even react to it.**

Wait a minute. Hadn't she told Jon that Vulcans didn't touch food with their fingers? Yes, she had – even made a damned show of cutting a bread stick with a fork, and ridiculed them with her supercilious comments about how they remained "impulsive carnivores."

 **I know something else you've been withholding** **from the Cap'n** **,** **and, if you insult me, this ship, or my species again, I'm going to tell him all about it** **."**

 **She just stared at him, silent. No trace of fear or anything else. Might as well be talking to a mannequin, but Trip decided that he was going to go ahead and lay down the law, anyway. He got up close enough to smell her, and looked down at her, letting her get a good sense of the fact that he was taller and bigger than her.** **"** **So here's how it's going to work in** _ **my**_ **Engine Room.** _ **I'm**_ **in charge, and** _ **you**_ **a** **re going to follow Thumper's Rule.**

 **Simple blackmail.** **And, apparently, it didn't exactly translate to Vulcan. Her answer was impassive, like she was talking about dust on the sensor panel.**

" **I'm not familiar with Thumper's Rule, Commander Tucker."**

" **So there _is_ something you don't know." He knew his smile wasn't pleasant, but right now he just didn't care. "Thumper's Rule says that if you can't say something nice, don't say _anything_. Got it?"**

 **She made a tiny gesture that might or might not have been a nod. Trip decided that he'd take it as one; at any rate she wasn't spouting insults anymore. "That's more like it, Sub-Commander." He took a deep breath, and got another faint whiff of her perfume. Odd, the way it came and went, always a little different.**

" **OK, T'Pol, you're a scientist. How about you explain to me just _how_ Vulcan sensors detect plasma decay?"**

" **I lack specific information, Commander. I'm not an engineer."**

 **It wasn't exactly going to win her the Team Player Award, but it was better than being told this was impossible for a seventeenth time. Trip took a breath, savoring her exotic, shifting smell. "Anything you can tell me would help. I checked the database, and all I found was a big fat classified."**

" **Revealing classified information violates my orders from the High Command."**

 **She'd told Jon the same thing about Rigel. If they were forcing her into a hell of a lot of trouble with her own chain of command? That might explain why she didn't exactly seem eager to help them find these Suliban who took Klaang. He'd resent it if he was getting forced into betraying Starfleet, too.**

" **I guess I didn't think about how hard this must be for you, or what's going to happen to you when we take you back to the compound. You going to be all right? I mean, they won't punish you for helping us find Klaang and get him home, will they?"**

" **That's irrelevant."She tapped at her scanner, and pretty vertical lines and swirls scrolled across its screen. Trip noticed that she didn't exactly answer the question. She studied her scanner for a moment, then looked up to watch him intently, her head tipped a little to one side - and there was his Vulcan Surprise Package again, that frozen emotionless face getting a little softer, in some undeniable way, and some sweetly spicy floral scent rose up to meet him, layered in citrus that reminded him of running in Great-Gramma Tucker's orange groves. She spoke again, her voice a bit lower, softer, more emotive. "Commander, I intended no insult to you, the Captain, this ship, its mission, Starfleet, or your species."**

" **Well, then, you've got a hell of a lot to learn about how to talk with humans."**

" **Are you also bound by Thumper's Law, Commander?" A quiet question, but her eyes gave it layers of meaning that said that she could be hurt, even if she was a helluva lot better at not showing it than he was.**

" **I'll do my best. I guess that really wasn't very fair, the way I said it." He took a deep breath; she smelled like springtime and warmth. He tried not to think about holding her, skin to skin. Not appropriate, Tucker. You've got a job to do, and so does she. "I'm sorry. I don't like disappointing the Cap'n. He's a very good friend." Another breath. He wanted to smell the place where her shoulder met her neck, and the hollow of her throat. He wanted to nibble one of those gorgeous ears that looked like it had been sculpted just for her. Trip swallowed, and wiped a hand over his mouth to ground himself. "So you really didn't mean to be insulting, why did you say those things."**

" **I said only what seemed necessary. Perhaps, Commander, you have 'a hell of a lot' to learn about how to listen to Vulcans." She aimed her scanner at the displays, and it whirred softly.**

" **Well, I can't argue with that."  
**

 **One eyebrow went up a fraction. "I was beginning to surmise that you were capable of arguing with anything, Commander Tucker."**

 **Trip started to blurt out an angry retort, but stuck his tongue in his cheek instead. There was something in what she said that he was going to think about, when they got this thing figured out and he had some time to really let it roll around in his head. For now, though, she was trying to make peace. Not a bad idea. If she really didn't mean to insult him, maybe he should just change the subject. "Maybe we _both_ have a lot to learn. Like why you told the Captain that Vulcans don't touch food with their hands, when we both know that's not _always_ true." **

" **Do you believe** **Captain** **Archer will wish to be apprised** **of my** **past** **indiscretions in the consumption of Earth fruits,** **Commander?** **"**  
 **  
"** **You're joking, right?"  
**

" **'Joking', Commander?"**

 **He was getting a headache, and they were going in circles. He felt like snapping, but, if she was willing to try, it seemed only fair that he try, too. "Never mind," he said. "Let's just see what we can do about the sensors, all right?"**

 **This time, her nod was more obvious, and Trip got the feeling that she was relaxing a little. And damned if that didn't remind him of Fusion all over again, and the more pleasurable possibilities of having her here. He was getting the hang of working with her, and, once they got this sensor issue worked out so that they could find Klaang and get him home, and then have four days to get to know each other better.**

 **Yup, smooth sailing was on the way. Just one little problem to solve - and he was an engineer.**


	5. Chapter 4 Humanity Helps

**Humanity Helps**

"At attention, Commander, if you want to keep that rank." Jon's voice was as hard as osmium alloy, and cold as space. Trip snapped to attention, and fast. They'd been best friends for years, now. But Jon was the Cap'n.

Jonathan Archer got up from his desk and walked to the window. He stood with his back to Trip for what felt like about a thousand years. Then he turned around slowly. "I'm not promoting you to First Officer, Trip."

Trip stuck his tongue in his cheek. He was never very good at keeping his mouth shut; it had gotten him in trouble more than he wanted to admit. He focused on keeping his spine straight, and not scratching that itch on his nose.

Jon came back to the edge of the desk, and leaned forward over it, scowling. "I wanted you for my second, Commander – but this mission has shown me that you're not ready. Maybe you never will be, if you can't learn to accept the chain of command." 

"Sir?" The word popped out before Trip could stop it. He bit his tongue, this time.

Jon picked up a datapadd. "This is the Bridge log from the Suliban helix, Commander Tucker. Do you want to tell me anything about what it says?"

"I guess I wasn't exactly in line, sir." His face was flaming, the same way it had back in Fusion, when she walked into his life the first time.

Jon stared at him.

"I thought she was gonna leave you out there - "

"I ordered her to see to the safety of the ship. She followed those orders to the letter, and better than I would have expected a Vulcan would. You, on the other hand – the log says plenty, Trip. But the reports I got from the Bridge crew seal it." He waved the padd under Trip's nose. "You got in her face and _yelled_ at her. How the hell do you think that's going to look to Ambassador Soval? Or even Admiral Forrest?"

"Not very good, sir."

"How do you think it _felt_ to T'Pol – and don't tell me she doesn't have any feelings, because I don't buy that, not after these last days, and I don't think you do, either."

No, he sure as hell didn't believe that. He remembered her, eyes closing as she swayed to soft jazz, then opening again, pulling him in...he remembered her in that Suliban cell on Rigel 10, too, and her hands rubbing decon gel on his shoulders, over and over again. He remembered her eyes when she saw Claire Simmons kissing him. Her face was immobile, but those eyes – she was a woman betrayed, if he'd ever seen one.

"Let's have it, Commander. How do you think it felt to Sub-Commander T'Pol when you decided to be insubordinate, to yell in her face while she had the Captain's chair? I want you to try to see it from her side."

"I think it made her mad as hell. Maybe a little scared that I'd fly off the handle – not that she'd get the metaphor. Maybe it proved to her that we're as bad or worse than the High Command thought we were." Trip took a deep breath. "We put her in an impossible position, chasing off after Klaang, and it's gonna get her into trouble when she gets back. You're my best friend – but I shouldn't have made it any worse for _her_."

"No, you shouldn't, Trip. She did a hard job, and she did it well. And she did something else." He tapped the padd, and extended it to Trip. "Go ahead; listen."

Trip pushed play. "While I can't dispute the reports of the other Bridge officers, or the log recording, I wish to state, for the record, that Commander Tucker's intervention was directly responsible for the formulation of the plan that led to Captain Archer's rescue and the successful completion of _Enterprise's_ mission. My recommendation is that no disciplinary action be taken against the Commander, who performed admirably and in accordance with my orders despite his -" a small pause, as though she was considering her next words - "kinetic nature."

"Damn," Trip said, softly. She'd stuck up for him. 

" _That's_ leadership, Commander. I hope you appreciate what she did for you, because, when we officially begin our mission, I'm requesting Sub-commander T'Pol as my First Officer." Jon looked at him as though he thought Trip would protest.

"I think you should, Cap'n. We need her." Hell, maybe _I_ need her, as much as I want her…

"That might be the smartest thing you've said since we left Earth, Trip. I'm going to take her advice, and let this go. But you're on notice, Commander Tucker. I won't have you yelling at my First Officer - or anyone else – on my Bridge again. Dismissed."

She was sitting all alone in the Mess Hall, sipping tea while she read an old-fashioned paper book written in those lines and swirls. Someday, maybe, he'd get the chance to ask her how to read something that looked more like art. But right now, he had something a hell of a lot more important to take care of.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Sub-Commander?" Trip swallowed, trying to remember what he'd rehearsed, and hoping that he wasn't going to screw this up and just make things worse.

"You're speaking with me now, Commander, so it would seem likely."

"What?"

"Pardon me. I haven't yet adjusted to accounting for the differences in human auditory capacities." She spoke rather loudly. He'd almost forgotten how sharp her ears were, and now he smiled, some of the tension going out of him at her misunderstanding.

"No, I didn't mean I couldn't hear you – your volume was fine. It was more like you surprised me. Maybe I confused you, too. What I should have said is that there's something I'd like to discuss with you. Not business, or not exactly. It's more like a personal matter."

She closed her book, then set her tea cup aside and folded her hands on the book. "We are both in uniform, Commander Tucker." Something in her voice was throwing up a barrier. She wasn't going to admit it, but she was still emotional about what she'd seen, and Trip figured there wasn't any easy way to explain to her the way humans comforted and sometimes misread one another. Claire kissing him had been a knee-jerk response to the breakup of her marriage, and Trip knew that she regretted it. But T'Pol wasn't human, and she was going to have to see a lot more of human interaction before she understood tings like that.

And he was going to have to accept that. Maybe, just maybe, he'd get a chance to show her that he was worthy of her trust.

"It's not _that_ kind of personal. Listen, mind if I grab a cup of coffee and sit down? Might make this easier."

"I don't mind." She was wearing that impassive face that said that she didn't care at all what he did. Was that her way of protecting herself? She must be uncomfortable here, a lot more often than she let on. Other Vulcans would understand her; maybe be able to interpret the body language that just looked stiff and still, to him.

While he got his coffee, he wondered if it was fair to ask her to stay. It hadn't been easy for her, so far, and it wasn't going to be, even if she stayed.

But maybe, just maybe, he could figure out a few ways to make it a little more comfortable for her…

He pulled up a chair across from her, but angled it so that he could look past her, to the stars. She seemed not to like making direct eye contact unless necessary; maybe it felt confrontational to her. "First things first," he said. "The Cap'n just chewed me out for yelling at you."

"I'm not sure I understand."

Trip replayed what he'd said. "I don't mean literally. He reprimanded me for my behavior at that helix. And he was right – I know better. I didn't have any right to yell at you, or tell you what to do when you were in command." 

"My report indicated that your actions were directly responsible for saving the Captain's life, and that you should not be disciplined for the admirable quality of loyalty to your commanding officer."

"I know. I heard it. And I want to thank you."

She looked at him with those pretty hazel eyes, and said, "That's not necessary."

"Maybe not to you, T'Pol. But it is to me. Thank you." He smiled. "I'm not going to yell at you again. When you're in command, you're in command, and I'll do what you say."

"I'll be leaving this ship when we reach Earth. There's little chance that I will be in command again."

"Well, about that..." Trip took a deep breath, and dove in head first. "Captain Archer just told me that he's going to ask you to stay with _Enterprise_ , as our First Officer."

"You were listed as _Enterprise's_ First Officer, Commander."

"I know. But I've learned some things out here. About what we might be up against, and about myself. Jon – the Cap'n – says I'm not ready for the job, and he's right."

"None of the crew are ready." Was she trying to make him feel better?

"I think we're all figuring that one out. That's why we need you."

"You don't object to Captain Archer's plan?"

"Now, how could I object to something that means I'll get more chances to fight with you?" He smiled at the way her head tipped, one eyebrow lifting a little. "Or to try to make up for the rough start we got off to?"

"You seem to have little trouble with objecting to a great many things, Commander." A tiny pause, as she lifted the mug again and sipped delicately. "It is a quality I find fascinating."

"Well, maybe it's not fair to want you to come back, but, if you do, I'm bound to fascinate the hell out of you."

"Do you want me to come back, Commander Tucker?" There was a soft husky note in her voice; this mattered to her, and she wasn't talking only about business.

"Yes, T'Pol. I want you to come back. Matter of fact, I can't think of anything I want more."

"I'm uncertain how my superiors will receive the request, but I will consider it." She sipped, while Trip tried to hide the fact that his heart was doing a happy dance, but he was grinning so wide his face ached. 

"I see no logic in your request, T'Pol."

The young woman sat in a Terran chair designed for beings with five fewer vertebrae than she possessed, and regarded the man on the viewscreen. "Perhaps, Ambassador Soval, that's because you've chosen to distance yourself from humans."

"I've resided on Earth for thirty Terran years, Sub-commander."

"You reside in at the Vulcan Consulate. By human custom, it is part of Vulcan." Her meditation candle's reflection provided a focal point; she considered his use of her recently reinstated rank. Was it intended to remind her of her primary duty to the High Command?

"Human customs aren't relevant to your request." T'Pol had found Soval's certainty agreeable during her time at the Consulate. Now, it suggested an unwillingness to consider any perspective not his own.

"You to live on their world, and yet remain separate. On _Enterprise_ , that isn't possible. I'm subject to the same regulations and obligations as any other member of this vessel's crew."

"Do you consider that a positive circumstance, Sub-commander T'Pol?" Soval regarded her closely; her answer would likely determine her future. It was as well that she had anticipated the query.

"As a member of _Enterprise's_ crew, I'll be able to continue advising them, and observe humanity more closely. I consider those positive circumstances." T'Pol breathed deeply; she hadn't intended to reveal her desire to remain with this crew in her manner.

Soval made no mention of her minor lapse. "Based upon Captain Archer's redacted mission logs and your own report, humans are far more impulsive and illogical than we anticipated. If the High Command approves your request, you will undoubtedly encounter further difficulties."

"I'm prepared for that. I believe that Captain Archer wouldn't have asked me to remain aboard if he wasn't also willing to accept the difficulties my presence will cause." T'Pol focused on the reflected flickering flame, and had a sudden image of what it might look like, seen in Commander Tucker's blue eyes. He wanted her to stay, and she wanted to be near him.

"I'm uncertain regarding your motives."

If her personal reasons for wishing to serve on _Enterprise_ were deduced, her request would be summarily denied, and she likely sent directly to Vulcan. There would remain nothing to prevent her marriage to Koss, and she wouldn't see Commander Tucker again.

T'Pol didn't find that possibility agreeable. She clasped her trembling hands in her lap, and remembered how he had offered her his hand.

"Terrans are not as the High Command perceives them. I believe that we have discounted this species erroneously."

"Elucidate."

"I advised Captain Archer and the Chief Engineer that their mission was impossible, on several occasions. In each instance, I was wrong."

For three breaths, Soval studied her. T'Pol strove to reveal nothing of emotion. "Perhaps serving with them affected your judgment."

"That much is certain. However, it has also proven that I calculated the probability of success only from a Vulcan perspective; a perspective Terrans don't share."

"That much is obvious in the reports. These Terrans were willing to violate protocols and place themselves, their vessel, the Denobulan physician, and you at great risk. There is nothing in the accounts that suggests that they wouldn't do so again."

T'Pol allowed herself the space for another measured breath before she continued. "I've formulated a hypothesis regarding the actions of Captain Archer and his crew that may well apply to all humans. This information would be of use to the High Command, and to your work. I wish to remain aboard _Enterprise_ to gather more data, and test that hypothesis further."

"What is your hypothesis, Sub-commander T'Pol?"

T'Pol watched the reflected flame superimposed upon Soval's left breast, precisely in the location of a human heart, as she spoke. "It is this: Humanity helps. Even at great risk to themselves, and with no chance of success, this species will do whatever it is able to assist those in need. They are willing and driven to expend tremendous energy and resources in pursuit of that goal." She didn't add that she found this an admirable quality, or that it was one she wished to learn to emulate, if it was possible for her to do so.

"I'll consider your request, and inform you once I report to the High Command." There was nothing else to be said, and the screen went dark, leaving T'Pol sitting before it, her eyes fixed on the image of her flame.


End file.
